


Once You Grow Fangs

by skivvery



Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Character Study, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 12:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10411869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvery/pseuds/skivvery
Summary: "And yet soulmates they remain. She, Gabrielle, a follower of peace, almost a saint in her own right to some, irrevocably intertwined with a harbinger of doom, wild black hair, short nails ever darkened by incrustations of unknown dried blood lodged underneath."





	

**Author's Note:**

> A first foray into a "new" fandom is bound to have its hiccups and for that I am sorry. Here's to hoping this piece might be enjoyable to readers old and new.

 

 "Pars magna bonitatis est velle fieri bonum."

  - Seneca

 

 

That her eyes should shimmer at the sight of an advancing adversary, her nostrils flare up in excitement at the stench of fresh blood (or the prospect of it summoned by her sword), and her muscles stretch and twitch in joy under the warrior’s mantle she called her skin – perennially adorned by patches of recovering tissue and new little injuries Gabrielle sometimes swore Xena allowed enemies to brand her with – , scared her to no end.

Beside Xena was the safest place Gabrielle could ever be, and she was more than thankful for the life she gained with Xena than the one she would have wasted in staying back home, but at times she became much too aware of the existence of the pit of her stomach in fear when she saw that other side of Xena manifest itself before her adoring eyes. She always knew of Xena’s reputation, of course – an epithet such as The Destroyer of Nations hardly goes unnoticed by the world at large; hermits in their caves, isolated from humanity, would know better than not to tremble at the mere mention of the erstwhile warlord – and being thick-skinned and cold-blooded were doubtless mandatory to an all-conquering, cunning warrior princess.

But those were tales, surely. Rumors and songs will always be sung in the highest, most impressive notes. As a bard herself, she should know. A woman she had met in those circumstances, who refrained from no effort to save a girl who meant nothing to her like that could never be the same ruthless murderer, the same insatiable, pitiless champion of death that tavern-goers and anonymous poets had made her out to be.

Dove-eyed and young, so very young, Gabrielle invited herself into this monolith of a woman’s life: into her present – and into her past, as she would discover.

 

X

 

Xena had fiber, Xena had scruples.

"I never killed women and children.”

Even as a villain, she had been better than most; even amidst barbaric pillage and bloodshed, she had honor, stood out above those called the best of men. She bettered them all. How could Gabrielle look up at her and find anything else if not the greatest admiration? Evil corrupted people to their core and she knew Xena’s heart had always been pure. That she should have such a past but now live this life alongside Gabrielle could only prove it, not contest it.

She knew who Xena was, even in the beginning of their journeys together: who the _real_ Xena - _her_ Xena - was.

Other people didn’t know her as Gabrielle did. They didn’t see this mighty disciple of Ares as she lovingly groomed her trusted mare, or as she gave the last portion of food she had left to a tattered beggar on the street, or as she put her life at stake to protect women and men she would likely never see again, an epic hero if ever there was one. They didn’t see how tenderly Xena talked to Gabrielle – not in condescendence, but with the greatest care and respect, with the utmost love. They never saw how this woman who had destroyed so much, scorched down so many lives, was so intent on giving up her sweat and blood to rebuild and heal, to right the wrongs of her past – no one ever saw that, and never as close up as Gabrielle did.

Xena’s presence commanded attention, her every step seduced the eye, her every word a source of delectation to the listener. She was imposing, intimidating, no doubt – Gabrielle would admit that she herself at times would shiver in awe when contemplating her companion, even after having lived beside her for many months – but why was it that people should always regard this magnificent woman in terror? Could her actions never atone for those committed eons ago, by someone who bore her name and resemblance but not her conscience? Was it meant to be that they should never get to see Xena the way Gabrielle did?

Why couldn’t they easily perceive, as Gabrielle did, the sheer force for good (dare she say holiness?) simmering beneath the rough edges, the worn-out leather, the piercing gaze and the sharpness of her unerring weapon of choice?

 

X

 

“Promise me you won’t become a monster.”

Gabrielle had said that at the height of her honesty – and of her innocence.

Xena already was a monster, had been one for years before she ever met Gabrielle, and Xena had relished in it as few could. Her affinity for blood and battle, as her allegiance to violence, were never secrets. She might not enjoy knowing this, but there was no denying the thrill of peril or power.

Sometimes, and Gabrielle knew Xena had no intention whatsoever to do so, she drew blood from her lips even while gifting her with the softest of kisses.

Once you grow fangs, you can never unsharpen your teeth.

 

X

 

Violence overjoyed her. Xena could feel shame for recognizing it, but she could not and _would not_ hide it. It wasn’t just enduring a kick and a punch happily, knowing she would pay back with twice the strength; it was mercilessly gutting a scoundrel mid-combat, feeling some unnamed sort of pride at enlarging the collection of scars on her body, it was crushing men’s skulls and ripping their very souls apart in a swift, calculated, perfect swing of the sword.

Confessing that to herself took some time, despite the stinging memory of having herself been hit by Xena in a fit of rage in that dungeon, so early on in their adventures. Gabrielle wasn’t fond of the idea that maybe there was a very real limit to how much Xena could change and that her blood-stained shadow could never be cleansed. She didn’t want Xena to feel guilty about what she had done, but the frantic enjoyment she clearly got out of causing havoc was cause for some concern. Who’s to say a withered flower petal is _never_ to sink in the earth and root and birth a putrescent vegetable itself? That side of Xena’s had been left behind, but not truly. It was part of her still and it would be a part of her always, that much was clear.

Examples piled up. They argued, said things they shouldn’t say, they hurt one another.

Arguments didn’t scare Gabrielle all that much. An angry Xena she could deal with. It was the conniving animal who knows but the rationale of war she could never reason with; it was the skilled conqueror who spared no one in her quest for power or vengeance, the scheming and deadly serpent who would betray a friend in a heartbeat for a gamble. What voice had she over those in Xena’s head?          

That creature who smirked when slicing a man’s throat ear to ear and whose eyes widened in gleeful anticipation while planning the slaughter of an entire tribe was something Gabrielle couldn’t bargain with. When it came out, it was hard to plea with Xena. She had been able to reach her time and again, but how much longer would Xena be able to deny that thirst that came so naturally to her only on the basis of Gabrielle’s begging her to?

She was trying her best to do good, yes, she was indeed. She could overcome her impulses, of course she could.

Gabrielle told herself what she had to in order to sleep soundly at night, but the truth was that her Xena, the _real_ Xena only she had so much knowledge of, had a lust for extermination as much as a need for repentance. She was both idol soaring through the skies in splendor and viscous darkness ready and willing to devour any unfortunate shred of light that foolishly fell into its unending, horrifying abyss.

 

X

 

She tried to make sense of it, to make sense of herself amid this at once lethal and blissful mess she’s got herself stuck in, bound by heart, flesh and spirit to this woman so many might think her complete opposite. Maybe it is so: maybe Xena is the abysmal waters to her limitless sky.  And yet soulmates they remain. She, Gabrielle, a follower of peace, almost a saint in her own right to some, irrevocably intertwined with a harbinger of doom, wild black hair, short nails ever darkened by incrustations of unknown dried blood lodged underneath.

She has seen the beast.

And she has felt its grasp, grazed its talons and tasted its tongue; she has been the subject of both its loathing and its adoration and she has been the embodiment of both its punishment and its redemption.

Deep as they ran, those wounds were healed. Back then, she had not been entirely honest herself, not entirely good (although wanting to be so), and they had both faced due consequences for their mistakes. The fruit of their loins had come to rot and contaminate one another, leaving behind nothing, extirpating whole chunks from their progenitors’ beings, forming open and vicious gashes for all to see.

But they found a way to suture those injuries for themselves, found devotion to be as potent as the sourest of venoms. After all that, what else could be left to fear?

 … Even if the animal was never dormant for long.

Flashes of it came through during moments of the most delicate intimacy – that unstoppable desire rose to the surface, Gabrielle recognized it in those scorching, focused blue eyes that searched for pleasure with pleasure while those experienced and calloused hands drew intricate and beautiful maps all over her sensitive skin, eliciting all sorts of gasps from Gabrielle’s mouth, which were promptly devoured by the hungriest of gentle kisses.

No greater certainty existed: Gabrielle loved her with all she was. No lines of poetry alone or combined, no poems that ever were or ever would come to be could begin to translate her, for she loved fully enough to encompass that demon lurking within.

Lying down beside Xena, in the gateway between dream and consciousness, staring at this woman who was the at the prime of her form, who was the fiercest fighter that ever lived, the bane of men, the scourge of gods, this woman who was her most loyal of friends and her unwavering lover, Gabrielle saw both the most blinding of lights as well as the most suffocating darkness. And there was nothing and no one she adored more, for Xena _was_ Gabrielle. The latter could be someone apart from her, but she could only be Gabrielle in all her colors when she was with Xena. About that monster that resided within? It was no threat, not to her.

For all the passion Xena might have for combat, as powerful as her addiction for butchery and mayhem could be, whatever it is she feels for Gabrielle (it's hard for Xena to talk about it, she isn’t a bard) is a thousand times greater. Her vows are mostly wordless, but they are true.

She has seen the beast.

And the beast has submitted at her feet. She has knelt beside it and met it at its level, pulled it towards herself risking death, and, instead, she has been rewarded with the most fulfilling, wonderful of lives.


End file.
